I’ve never been good at naming things. Even as a child, all of my stuffed toys were very unimaginatively named. There was Suzie, Casey, Mampi (ok this one sounds original, but she came with that name, so I take no credit), Teddy, Cuddly… you get the picture. In fact, so tedious were the names I was giving my posse that my best buddy from primary school (who’s coming to visit me in London next year ~ yay!) once asked, “hey, why do all their names end with ‘eee’?”
I don’t know, my brain can’t seem to grasp anything else.
So one day, she bought me a bear – he was a really cool scruffy kinda guy. And she named him Fergus. Wow, that threw my naming convention a real doozy.
Wednesday this week was a bit of an auspicious day. Not only was it pay day (which calls for a monthly celebration, especially after my big spending habits of late), it was also me and Panu’s three year anniversary. This might not sound like a long time for some of you co-existing co-habiting in-crazy-long-relationship types, but three years is the longest relationship I’ve had by a golden mile and then some.
I’m not really sure why, I mean I don’t really classify myself as a “commitment phobe”, but I’ve been known to do the dash at three months, nine months and definitely bail at a year. So when Panu and my first anniversary rolled around, my friends watched in nervous anticipation. Everything went fine. When the second anniversary drew near last November, again, they all held their breath, but again, it came and went.
Now it’s three years and look, we’re still together, still a team.
I’m totally digressing. Believe me, old age makes you soft. Anyway, anniversary schmanniversary. All it is really is another reason to eat out in style and here at thecattylife, we’re gonna do it twice. First up? Launceston Place.
There are only two Thai restaurants that I go to in London. That’s not to say that they are the best, but they are very good and consistently so. I mean, there are a serious number of dodgy Thai places in L-town, some that don’t even serve dessert *blasphemy!* and others whose service varies so dramatically that it gives me whiplash.
There’s no secret that my very very most favouritest Thai is Siam Central on Charlotte St. Not once have I had a sub-standard meal there and everyone I’ve brought has been duly converted. We are the believers. Now, Siam Central is uber convenient for me, because it’s like two minutes from my apartment. So that’s all good, but what do I do when I’m at work?!
Well. The answer, my friends, blew to me quite literally in the wind, and it whispered ever so enticingly… “Thai 33, baby”.
I know I’ve been blogging like almost once a day for the past week – ok except yesterday because I’m trying not to be so addicted to this thing and somewhere between “after dinner” and “blogging” and “watching Generation Kill“, I really need to find some time to have a life.
How often should a blogger blog? Now, this is truly the million dollar question in bloggersphere. It’s up there with How do I get the perfect WordPress Theme? and How the heck do I get more than one person (my mum) to read my blog? But sadly, there’s no answer for this and the pro’s will tell you that “it’s up to you”. Which is exactly the answer that most bloggers don’t want to hear.
I’m no pro. I don’t even have a blogging schedule, like they teach you to. To me blogging is therapeutic and considering the number of conversations I have with myself in my head, I almost owe it to my sanity to flush my brain and do a verbal dump right here, every day.
But luck’s on your side because there are other things I also find therapeutic. Like making sushi.
I’ve been feeling a little icky with myself lately. And when I say “lately” I mean like, the last I don’t know six months or so. I used to be one of those mad people who go to the gym and run like a hamster on the treadmill, happily plugging away to Sk8ter Boi (my all time favourite running song) and madly, insanely, enjoying it.
But six months ago, I hurt my knee and it grew to the size of a melon. For days. I’m not shitting you. And it wasn’t the first time either, because the first time I was young and stubborn enough to get back on the treadmill despite advice from physiotherapists. This time, granted I am like so much older, I thought I’d pay attention otherwise who knows, my hip might go next.
This is where you can call me insane, but guys, cardio workouts are addictive. I’ve tried to ignore the fact that I no longer get my hit on the treadmill. The incredible adrenalin high and sense of achievement after each and every run. I’ve tried boxing which I loved but was way too expensive, and I’ve tried to get into yoga, which in all honesty isn’t so bad but it’s. not. the. same. And I’ve really tried to convince myself that even without cardio, I’m not gonna get fat.